You are safe. You are loved.

H loves group activities. She loves story times and crafts. She always has.

What Miss H does not love are large crowds and loud noises. Especially in small spaces.

Honestly, in this day and age, I'm sure if I brought it up to her pediatrician (well, not her pediatrician specifically because she's awesome and not quick to label quirks), she'd get slapped with a label like sensory processing disorder. But J's the same way with big crowds and loud noises, he just knows how to handle himself appropriately now.

H is only 3. She does not yet have the proper coping mechanisms.

We frequent story time at Barnes and Noble. It's one of H's very favorite things to do. Books and crafts and cookies, all at the same place!

Today, however, there were a significant amount more children there than typical. A lot more noise and chaos when it came time to do the craft. And in less than a split second H went from happily working on her snake craft to utter Meltdown Molly mode.

She couldn't function or coherently really understand me. She screamed and cried and when I scooped her up and took her away to a safer distance (but could still see B) she still couldn't calm down, despite all our normal soothing words and deep breaths. H has only been that far gone a few times in her life. Typically a quiet place and safe in my arms, she can calm down quite easily.

Not today.

So I got to be that mom carrying an out of control child out of the store, another one slung about the other hip.

It's sad to think that some people would have looked at their child in such a predicament and thought nothing more than a screaming, tantruming, disobedient child, and completely miss the true distress the kid is in.

Don't get me wrong, it's not easy. Even knowing that this isn't typical behavior, knowing that there were a lot of factors that I should have made me aware this was a likely probability, it doesn't make it easy to just stand there calmly with a preschooler in complete freak out mode while 20 other moms stare at you.

Regardless, my daughter is obviously more important. Her needs are more important. Her distress is more important.

And you know what? When we finally made it out to the car and I sat her down in her seat, we took huge deep breaths together, and after a few minutes of me just repeating "You are safe. You are loved. You are safe. You are loved" about a million times, she was okay again.

And she looked at me, all red-faced, swollen-eyed, and said, "Momma, that was really scary."

It was really scary.

And I wasn't even the one who had to feel all of those scary feelings she was experiencing.